In his mind, the eyes still leered at him in green light as he lay on the floor, groaning and writhing in the low-light of failure. It was more than pain too—a stunned lethargy almost—as he replayed the attack in his mind. Was it Galli? It had to be Galli—but it couldn't be Galli either.

"Alan maybe?" Godric muttered to himself. "No. He left hours ago and his eyes are green, like mine..."

But that made no sense to him as he lay flat on his back. Because why—what was her motive? Maybe she was a thief after all.

By the time he got to his feet a few minutes after that, the pain was at a manageable level, and his mind was flowing straight enough as he leaned on a near shelf. A flash of anger and damaged pride came and he kicked the box and papers he slipped on, and almost fell again.

"Fuck!"

Even though he knew it was locked he tried the door anyway. Reached for the keychain that was supposed to be latched to his belt by a chord and found nothing. The cut chord had whipped back into the mechanism that reeled it on a spring. The thing would have to be dissembled to retrieve it now.

"Well, there goes my job," Godric muttered.

Tried to think of a clever exit method, but nothing came to mind. Eventually he began to pound on the door for moments afterward, shouting to be let out.

But nothing came from the other side. No noise of feet in the hallway—no sound of any sort. His first instinct then had been to call the police—but he realized with another pained groan that his smartphone sat upon the security desk. Didn't stop him from checking his pocket every five minutes anyway, and cursing when he remembered.

Another thought that slipped by was to kick in the door—he was certainly strong enough to manage it—but cold rationality told him to wait a few minutes. Some idea less destructive might come to him yet. The broken wood might seal his fate with MacLeod anyway, as though the lost keys weren't enough.

He sat in the chair at Galli's desk, fingers pressed against his lips. "How?" he hissed. "Why?"

He tried to access the computer, but it had gone to sleep already, and was now demanding a password. He tried a few guesses until it locked him out.

"Shit."

He then remembered the noise he had heard just before Ada vanished—if it was Ada—and just before she reappeared. The clicking thud. That had been on the other side of the room, on the side where the door was. And what was it he had heard Steve say to her at the café? Something about getting it open? Getting what open?

The idea hit Durst and hit him hard. There was another way out of the room beyond the locked door. Had to have been.

It was in a camera blind spot, and yet no one had been seen approaching the area—or leaving it—from any of the other cameras when Ada got locked in. He'd checked. There had to be another way.

A secret passage in the Clemsworth Museum!

The thought was ridiculous, yet irresistible, and had real force to it. Soon Godric could think of nothing else. Where did it lead? Were there others?

Most of that side of the room was out of sight from where he sat at the desk. Shelves and boxes that might as well have been another wall. Someone slipped in, locked the door, and then slipped back out.

After twenty minutes of fevered fumbling with the bookshelves Godric still hadn't found the damned thing. Perhaps the noise really had been just noise. He was a little glad for that too; the thought of such a place—narrow and short in total darkness—conjured a feeling of writhing cobwebs on his face. His chest became a little tight.

"Fuck this," Godric muttered to himself, and walked over to the door.

He knew from books the best place to kick in a door was square above the lock, and he let the thing have it with a hard kick that cracked against the wood and made the wood tremble in its hinges.

But it was only after he was sitting on the floor, rubbing his foot and ankle, that he remembered the door opened towards himself.

Durst tried again a few moments afterward, just to be sure, and the door trembled, maybe even cracked a little, but ultimately held firm. The only way he might brute force this door was to split it right down the middle, and there was no implement besides his shoulders and feet available that might easily serve as an aid in doing so.

The anger bubbled over again then, and Durst screamed, "Open this bloody door, goddammit!"

A reply came.

"Just wait one minute!"

The voice was smooth and pleading—it nearly winded Godric as much the blow to the balls had.

It was Ada's voice.

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